


Comfort of a Father

by Destiel101



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Because I can, Blessed Are The Peacemakers, Fluff, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, So much comfort, brother john - Freeform, dad dutch, dad hosea, just random fluff bits, no plot really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 20,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29180142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiel101/pseuds/Destiel101
Summary: Alternate take on Blessed Are the Peacemakers because Arthur didn't get the comfort he deserved.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde, John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 37
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dutch should've looked for Arthur. We all know that. So here is the comfort he deserves. With fatherly Dutch.  
> Also I called the white Arabian Ivory when I got her so that's what she's named in this.  
> May add more chapters if people want.  
> (I don't like the title btw but couldn't think of a good one. Let me know if you have any suggestions.)

Pain.

Radiating, mainly from his shoulder but he ached everywhere.

He held onto his horse’s mane for dear life, one grip stronger than the other. His legs were weak but as tight as he could get them around the saddle. If he fell, he wasn’t sure he would be able to get back up.

He had told her to take him home. He trusted her to carry him to safety. His beautiful white Arabian. Someone said she shone like Ivory. So that’s what he named her. Ivory. His girl. She would bring him home.

If he could manage to stay in the saddle. 

He doesn’t know how far from camp he is, only knows he’s far enough from the danger he can relax slightly. 

He’s bent over his saddle, forehead almost pressed into Ivory’s neck.

He startles slightly, he can hear shouting. He tenses but it’s coming from in front of him, not behind. No gunshots to accompany it. Did he almost run into somebody? Or is he home?

He lifts his head best he can, cracks his eyes open. Not camp, but he can see horses coming towards him.

Is it wishful thinking or is the one in front The Count? He prays to whoever may be listening that he’s right.

Ivory slows her gait and relief blooms in his chest. It is The Count. It’s Dutch calling his name. And Hosea. John. Charles. Javier. Even Bill. 

He can feel his body shutting down in the presence of safety. He hopes they get to him before he passes out. The fall from his horse would hurt. 

Ivory comes to a standstill. He sees Dutch slide off his horse before it has the chance to stop. He’s running towards him, the others dismounting behind him. 

He lists sideways and this time he can’t hold on. He braces for impact but his silent prayers are answered and hands grab him before he hits the ground.

He is lowered gently, leaning against someone. The smell of aftershave and pine and home fill his senses. He is leaning against Hosea. He can hear John talking. There are hands on his face. A voice calling to him, tight with concern.

He opens his eyes again. When had he shut them? Dutch is in front of him. His eyes shine with concern, his forehead crinkled in his worry. He’s talking, mouth moving, pulling down at the corners into a frown. 

He’s calling someone. Maybe him. He doesn’t know, it’s too far away. The sounds, the pain. Fading away into nothingness. He lets it, he wants peace. Rest.

He looks at Dutch’s face, worry lines and tired bruises under his eyes. He smiles slightly. He’s safe. He can only manage one quiet word before the darkness claims him.

“Dad.”


	2. Chapter 2

Three days. He had been missing for three days.

The whole camp was on edge, the moment Dutch and Micah returned from their meeting with Colm without Arthur.

Micah didn’t seem to care, but they all knew something was wrong. 

Sure, Arthur had a tendency to run off. Be gone for days, sometimes even a week. Returning with food and cash. But he always told someone before he left.

He never met them at the rendezvous point. 

They checked the cliff edge and found nothing but a rotting animal. Nothing looked wrong. 

But it felt wrong. 

And Dutch knew. 

He knew Colm. And the lengths that man would go through to hurt him. Taking Annabelle from him wasn’t enough. Now he was going for his son.

He didn’t know what Colm wanted with Arthur. Ransom. An apology. A trade. Was Arthur even alive? Would he find him in the same state he found Annabelle?

The very thought made him sick.

He couldn’t even think of sleeping. Spending every moment tracking Arthur. Colm. Any O’Driscoll they could get their hands on. Questioning them, trying desperately to get the information they were after.

It took them three days.

Dutch hadn’t slept once, not many had. He had barely eaten. Sickened at the very thought of what he might find. 

Finally, they found something. 

One O’Driscoll with the answers they wanted. 

It was all a setup. Just as most thought.

It wasn’t to make peace. It was all to get Arthur.

Colm wanted him as bait. He knew Dutch cared for Arthur like a son, knew he would look and eventually come for him.

He was being kept in a cabin, nearly a day’s ride away.

Colm expected Dutch to come storming in with the others, once they arrived Colm would set the law on them. 

Revenge and money. Perfect for Colm.

There was only slight relief, Arthur was alive. Bait is no good dead. But he was hurt, badly and needed medical attention. 

Dutch couldn't care less what Colm had planned, he was going to get his son. And he said as much. To his surprise Hosea didn’t argue, just mounted up beside him. Just as worried for their boy.

He told the camp he knew it was a trap but he didn’t care. They had Arthur, he was hurt and they needed to get him back. It was a bad idea and it was extremely dangerous but that wasn’t stopping him. Arthur would do the same for him.

He wasn’t going to force anyone to come, but if anyone wanted to, he would appreciate the help.

No one was surprised when both John and Charles mounted up without a word. Only mild surprise at Javier joining them. Though Bill mounting his horse surprised most, knowing he and Arthur didn’t always get along but they knew even with the dislike, Arthur wouldn’t hesitate if Bill was in his place.

So, they rode out, it was noon when they left camp. It would take about a day of constant riding to get there and no one had any plans to stop. If they had to, they could catch up. It was a few hours later, into the night when they spotted a single rider further down the path.

The night was clear, the moon bright. The horse moved a certain way and they saw its white coat shine in the moonlight. Ivory. Her coat was unmistakable. Her rider slumped over her neck.

They called Arthur’s name, coaxing their horses just a little faster. The rider moved slightly. It’s head raising. It was him. They found him.

Ivory stopped; Arthur started to fall sideways.

Dutch’s feet hit the ground before he even told his horse to stop, he could hear the others behind him. He and Hosea catching Arthur as he fell. 

He was clad in only his union suit, an ugly gunshot wound on his shoulder, his breathing was short. Obviously in pain. Who knew what other injuries he had?

They lowered him gently, leaning against Hosea, Dutch cradled Arthur’s face in his hands, already warm with a fever. His shoulder was probably infected. 

He could hear John behind him telling the others to return to camp and get things ready for their arrival but Dutch couldn’t tear his attention away.

He saw Arthur fight to open his eyes, looking straight at him. A small smile of relief gracing his lips. A word passed through them, quiet enough only himself and Hosea heard him before he fell into unconsciousness, and Dutch’s heart nearly burst with emotions.

“Dad.”


	3. Chapter 3

He didn’t know up from down.

The whole world was spinning. Bumping. Up and down. Side to side. 

He was leaning against someone. On a horse, or in a wagon. Something moving. 

But the hold was gentle. Soft. Caring. Safe. He was safe.

He could feel a hand on the back of his head, carding through his hair. A gentle voice. Words too far away to discern but comforting nonetheless. 

His head rested on their shoulder. Familiar. They were familiar. 

One hand comes up, slow and shaky. The arm not throbbing in pain. It snakes around the figure, clutches the fabric at their back. His head turns into their neck, inhales. 

Smells of comfort. Of home. The smell of cigars and cologne. Dutch. It’s Dutch. He found him. His father found him.

But it was a trap.

He had to warn them.

A struggle to speak but a word forced past a parched tongue and cracked lips. Barely a whisper. 

“Dad.”

The hand on his head stops. The head next to his turns. He uses all his strength to focus on the reply. 

“Yes, son?”

Dutch’s voice is unmistakable, yet quiet. A rare occurrence for him. He takes a few shaky breaths.

“T-trap.”

The hand cards through his hair again. “I know, son.”

He knows? Then why did he come? He could’ve been captured! Killed! His heart rate spikes. Panicked breaths. The soothing voice is back, a second arm coming around him, rubbing his back. “Shhh, it’s okay. You escaped. No one else was hurt or captured.” 

They’re all safe. He slumps bonelessly against the man, hot tears falling from his eyes. He’s too tired and relieved to be ashamed. He didn’t get anyone hurt. Colm didn’t win. He was safe. They were safe.

He buries his head in Dutch’s neck again, trying to breathe through the rush of emotions. The scent of the man he calls his father soothing him. He remembers another one. Not too long ago. This one of pine and aftershave. His other father. Where was he? 

“Pa?”

He feels rather than hears the slight chuckle from Dutch. “Don’t you worry son, he’s right behind us. We’re almost home.”

He can feel the darkness creeping back up to pull him under. He’s scared this time. Scared it’s all a dream. That he’ll wake up back in that cellar, strung up like a piece of meat. 

He whimpers, clutching the fabric in his hand impossibly tighter. 

“Arthur?” Dutch sounds worried. He wants to tell him it’s okay. He’s okay. He’ll be fine. But when he speaks that’s not the words that come out.

“Don’t leave me.”

He feels a kiss placed on the side of his head. Dutch’s promise carrying him into oblivion.

“Never.”


	4. Chapter 4

No one expected them to be back for a least two days. 

Nevertheless, the camp went about preparing for their return the moment they rode out.

They knew Dutch would want Arthur in his tent, it was the best one in camp. So, they replace the furs on the cot with towels and blankets that could get ruined. Extra blankets, clean clothes, and rags being placed nearby. 

Two bedrolls are placed in the corner, waiting for whoever would end up falling asleep first, but not willing to leave.

A small table is placed within reach of the cot, covered with bandages and medicine. Anything they could need was taken from the medical wagon and placed on the table.

Pails of water are filled and kept close to the fire, ready to be warmed at a moment’s notice.

Soon, there was nothing left to do but wait. Even trailing into the night very few slept. Too wound up to relax. Waiting anxiously for the return of their lost member.

It was a little past midnight when they heard hoofbeats coming down the path. Karen calls out from her post, announcing the return of Charles, Javier, and Bill.

Charles quickly dismounts, the camp now fully awake and crowding him. He explains they found Arthur on their way. He had somehow escaped on his own, they met him and his horse on the main trail. 

It looked like he was shot close range in the shoulder, but they didn’t know the full extent of his injuries. John sent them back to make sure everything was ready.

Supplies were double-checked, water set to heat. The path to Dutch’s tent was fully cleared.

Another tense hour passed before they heard another approach. Karen yelling in excitement that she could see Hosea.

John and Hosea dismount quickly, Kieran taking their horses to the hitching posts. They spot Ivory, her reins tided around Silver Dollar's saddle horn.

Hosea turns to The Count, taking his reins and leading him towards the tent, his lips tight in worry.

As a matter of fact, the worry was evident in every movement he and John made.

The no horses in the camp rule is ignored, knowing it was the safest and easiest way to get Arthur to the cot. 

No one can tear their gaze away. Their usually unshakeable leader, looking tired and concerned. Their ever-strong protector, slumped against him, one hand grasping the back of their leader's vest and head resting on his shoulder.

Dutch’s ringed hand slowly carding through the hair of his right-hand man. 

They knew from the look on Dutch’s face it was serious. The Count comes to a stop in front of the tent, everybody watching silently as Dutch coaxes Arthur down and into the arms of Hosea and John. 

His eyes are glassy, barely focused. Face red, sweat beading on his forehead. They see the wound on his shoulder, knowing the fever is probably an infection. 

It then dawns on the camp that they may lose Arthur. It doesn’t seem possible but as he’s lead into the tent and gently laid down, they know it’s a very real possibility. 

No words are spoken as the camp works as one to clean and dress Arthur’s wounds. The severity of what happened being slowly unveiled as more wounds are found. All brows are furrowed, people wincing at the pained noises Arthur emits.

Silent prayers are sent as they see Dutch sitting next to his boy, holding his hand, his other once again running through Arthur’s hair. Words too quiet to be heard by anyone but who they are meant for. A calming presence as a delirious Arthur is tended to.

It seems like hours upon hours before they finish. His wounds all cleaned and dressed, packed tightly with medicine.

Cool rags are on his face and neck, a raging fever already taken hold. Infection in his shoulder. Nothing too serious yet, hopefully, it will stay that way.

Everything is cleaned up, medicine and water kept nearby. John sitting at the end of the cot. Hosea sitting by Dutch, the latter not having moved from his position. Keeping Arthur calm during the process. 

They can see the rigidness of his shoulders, how the hand carding through Arthur’s hair shakes slightly. 

They got him back. 

But will they lose him?


	5. Chapter 5

If it wasn't obvious how much Arthur did for the camp before, it sure as hell was now.

Some already knew mind you, Lenny always noticed how often Arthur's name appeared in the ledger. Pearson knew just how much meat he brought in. Charles noticing the number of jobs he went on. 

The girls saw it the most.

They would watch him as he returned from one of his excursions, looking utterly worn out. Always dragging a deer or some rabbits or turkeys with him. Something going into the box. He wouldn't even look at his tent, just set about whatever chores were left. 

They'd watch him do other people's chores for most of the day. He'd finally be done, go to rest and Miss Grimshaw would be on him, saying he never did any work around the camp. 

It made the girls furious but they knew better than to speak up, lest they get a slap. Arthur, too worn out to argue, would simply mutter an apology and set back to work, waving off their concern.

They would make sure he ate something. Bringing him water whenever they could. He would always give them a grateful smile. 

Just as he finished his second round of chores someone would call him for a job. Be it Dutch or Sean or Strauss. He would go, of course. Almost collapsing when they returned, usually at dawn.

It was sad what others could get away with. The ones on the job would be able to sleep all day. Others getting drunk or slacking off instead of working. But they'd have Arthur up before noon the next day to work. But he never complained. 

They asked him why once. He explained that he's tried in the past but he was always written off. Told him he shouldn't be lazy, to stop complaining, or told he was acting like a child. That everyone had to pull their weight. 

At this point the women believe he takes all the weight. 

So they do what they can. Make sure his clothes are washed first with the best soap. Work extra carefully to mend the rips or tears so it looks like they never happened. 

They don't mind doing little chores for him, even taking his watch occasionally so he can rest.

He's always been kind to them. Never speaking a bad word or being suggestive like some men. Treating them with respect. Protecting them when needed. Lending an ear or a shoulder to cry on. Sitting with them in silence or filling it with nonsense. Helping chase away their fears. 

They have no doubt that if they were taken, he would be the first one bursting through the door.

So they take care of him. The way he would take care of them. 

Dutch never leaves him for more than a minute. It gives them the perfect opportunity to tell him exactly what they see around camp.

Dutch doesn't look surprised. He nods solemnly, slight guilt in his features. He promises to do better.

They don't believe him at first. 

But when Karen goes to storm into the tent and give Dutch a piece of her mind, the girls trailing behind her in hopes of getting her to stop. they are halted in their tracks.  


Dutch was always sitting next to Arthur but now he was slumped over. His head rested on Arthur's chest, ear placed over his heart. Both Dutch's hands were wrapped around Arthur's, one holding his hand, the other pressed to the pulse point. 

They notice immediately that Dutch is asleep, exhaustion finally winning out. Even though there are two bedrolls nearby he didn't move.

Even in sleep he looked exhausted, his brow furrowed in worry. 

It was then that they believed him.

They were so focused on Dutch they were startled to see Arthur awake. He hadn't been awake in days. his fever reaching dangerous heights. 

Tilly is the one who moves, kneeling by Arthur's head, careful not to wake their sleeping leader.

"Hey, you." It's whispered but everyone can hear it in the silence of the tent.   


Arthur smiles tiredly at her. She feels his forehead, letting out a small sigh of relief. "Your fever broke."

The girls nearly start crying right there but refuse to wake Dutch. Arthur hums tiredly, then gives a pointed look at the man asleep on his chest.

Tilly huffs out a quiet laugh, "You've been back a week." Arthur's eyebrows raise in surprise. "Your fever was bad, we thought we was gonna lose you."

Arthur leans into the hand on his forehead. Tilly smiles, "You had John, Hosea, and Dutch camped here for a while. After a few days, they convinced John to go back to his own tent. Hosea has been staying here but he's on your cot now. Too many nights on the floor, his joints are aching. This one though." She shoots an endearing look at Dutch. "Think he only left for bathroom breaks. And believe me, he wouldn't have if he could've gotten away with it."

Arthur snorts in amusement. The small action sending ease through the group.   


She runs her fingers through his hair, "You get some more rest. I'll tell Miss Grimshaw your fever broke. We'll get you something to eat soon."

She places a kiss on his forehead before standing from her position.

They all exit quietly. Tilly pulls Grimshaw aside. Explains that Arthur's fever had broken and he was awake and coherent for a few minutes. But she should leave them be for now. Miss Grimshaw looks confused but Tilly tells her to poke her head in the tent and she'd understand.   


She does just that, emerging a moment later with a small smile. She calls Charles over, tells him the news, and asks him if he could go hunting, get some fresh meat for Pearson to make Arthur some food. He agrees eagerly.

Despite the early hour, Grimshaw wakes John and Hosea, keeping her promise to tell them of any change, no matter the time. They can see the relieved slump of Hosea's shoulders.

The girls all smile at the happy turn of events. 

Arthur was gonna be okay.

They were okay


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a storm today. Work was practically dead. Was able to get lots of writing it. Thank you for all the comments. I read every one and it warms my heart.

Spirits are high in camp. 

Arthur was gonna be fine. 

His fever had broken two nights before, he was able to keep down water, and later stew made from a fresh rabbit courtesy of Charles.

People were eager to see him but knew it was best to wait. This was the time for family. 

And while it was true the whole camp considered themselves a family, they know some had stronger bonds. 

So they let them be. Let John, Dutch, and Hosea crowd Arthur. He lasted longer than they thought he would before snapping to be left alone for five minutes. He gets they were worried but just please let him breathe.

It's the first time Dutch is out of the tent for more than a minute. His usually crisp appearance ruffled, clothes wrinkled, and hair unkempt. Stubble covering his usually bare cheeks. He sits at the table, staring into a cup of coffee. No one feels the need to bother him. 

John brings Arthur something to eat after a couple of hours. He exits a while later, eyes lighter and a smile on his face. Some overhear him tell Hosea that Arthur wants his help to the shore. Says he needs out of his tent wants to sit by the water. He's gonna go no matter what so Hosea might as well help him.

Hosea seems exasperated but obliges. Knowing it wasn't an idle threat and Arthur really would go down on his own. 

Arthur's still not very steady on his feet but he makes it. Sitting with a relieved sigh, leaning back on an old tree trunk.

He squeezes Hosea's hand, looking up at him with tired but happy eyes, "Thanks, Pa."

Hosea squeezes back, "I'm not sure how long you have before Dutch is back on ya."

Arthur chuckles, knowing it won't be long but not too worried. They share another glance before Hosea leaves him to his thoughts.

He tries not to think about the event but his mind does wander to the aftermath. Of Dutch and Hosea finding him.

He used to call them Dad and Pa all the time. As time went on, as he got older and the gang grew he kinda stopped.

They never really talked deeply about it. Arthur briefly explaining that other members would not be kind or even be too kind because of it. They both knew it didn't mean he didn't still see them as his fathers. 

Still they missed it. Sometimes in private, it would slip out and their hearts would soar. A part of them wishing Arthur would continue. 

He didn't know what exactly brought him to say it again. What made it so that came out instead of their names. He just knew he was in pain and scared and they were safe. Neither seemed to mind, at this point the whole camp knew he was practically their son. If anyone poked fun at him he would punch them. Well, the guys he would. He knew the girls would just do it in harmless fun. 

He is brought out of his musings at the sound of footsteps approaching. He doesn't need to look back to know who it is. "Was wondering when you'd be down."

Dutch lowers himself to sit next to Arthur, giving him a sheepish look. They sit in silence for a while, but Arthur can tell something isn't right. He looks to his left to glance at Dutch.

The man is uncharacteristically silent, head down and eyes on his lap. His hands playing with the chain on his vest. Arthur reaches out, wary of his still-healing shoulder. He curls his hand around Dutch's, stopping the movement of his fingers. They let go of the chain, instead taking Arthur's hand in both of his.  


Dutch's thumb strokes the back of Arthur's hand. 

Another beat of silence. "I'm sorry." Arthur has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He's been hearing that constantly since he woke up. But he senses there's more this time. So instead of irritation, he keeps his tone soft. "I know ya are. I already told you it wasn't your fault."  


Dutch shakes his head, "No. Not about that. I mean I am still sorry about that but..."

He trails off uncertainly. Arthur waits a moment. When it doesn't seem like he'll continue on his own he gently prompts. "But?"

Dutch exhales a shaky breath. "I'm sorry I haven't been fair to you."

Before Arthur can utter anything in his confusion, Dutch continues. "When you were recovering the girls told me about what would happen in camp. The work you would do, the items you brought in. And it really showed when you weren't able to do it. A part of me knew you did a lot for the camp but I never knew how much you actually did. How little you rested. If-if you had been better rested before this the fever might not have been so bad. Might not have almost-" He chokes off. Like he can't even bring himself to say it. "I-if I lost you-"

Arthur is cutting him off before he can say more. "Don't" Dutch looks up at him, eyes shining slightly. Arthur shakes his head. "I work because others won't and it needs to be done. This ain't on you. If you had known you would’ve done something about it but I didn't tell you for a reason. You have enough to worry about as it is. Making sure the camp chores are done don't need to be one of them."

Dutch seems to get angry at that, "It does when you nearly work yourself to death!"

Arthur sighs, "Look, we could argue about this but I'd rather not. I'm too tired to argue properly. What's done is done. You're sorry. I forgive you. Now that you know I won't have to do so much. Can we leave it at that?"

He can see the anger melt away from Dutch's gaze, a warm look replacing it. He relents, "Okay. Come here."

He puts his arm up and Arthur falls willingly. Dutch's other hand letting go of Arthur's to fully wrap around him, making sure not to hurt him. Arthur's left-hand grabs the previously abandoned chain, his right snaking around Dutch's torso. It's been so long since he was embraced like this. He can feel himself relaxing fully, his weight leaning on his pillar of strength. 

He can hear the hesitancy in Dutch's next words. The slight fear, "I can't lose you, Art. I don't know what I would do if I did."

Arthur holds onto him a little tighter, "I'll make sure to tell ya if I need to rest. Make sure I'm not overworked." It's the best he can offer in their line of work and it seems to be enough. Dutch lets out a relieved sigh, "Thank you."

The silence returns for a time, the two men enjoying the rare embrace. Arthur is starting to drift when he is woken by a soft word, "Arthur?"

Arthur hums in response, content where he is. A hand runs up and down his back, a familiar and comforting gesture. "I love you, son."

Arthur burrows further into the embrace. Though he knows Dutch loves him and it's said in a million different ways in the things the man does, it's always nice to hear.

He's quickly falling asleep but manages to mumble a reply, "Love you too, Dad


	7. Chapter 7

Hosea still remembers when Arthur first joined them. 

Small for his age, obviously underfed. All dangly limbs and sharp retorts. His mouth angry but his eyes afraid. 

No one his age should have gone through what he did. Saw what he saw. Be forced to live on the streets, starving, stealing to survive. 

Hosea was unsure at first. Not seeing whatever it was Dutch saw the moment they met the boy. But he trusted Dutch, so he went along.

He kept him at arms length at first. Helped teach him to read, write, shoot, ride, fish, swim, anything he could think of to help the boy. He taught him to dress wounds, to cheat at poker. To hunt and skin animals. How to talk his way into a good situation and out of a bad one.

He watched the boy’s walls slowly come down. Still quick with his tongue it was now harmless jokes instead of mean barbs. He wouldn’t flinch when they neared him, enjoying a caring touch. He filled out, finally eating properly. He was still lean but no longer looking starved, muscle filling out the shirt that used to hang off him. 

He lived for their praise, doing everything he could to please them. At first, it was fear of being kicked back onto the streets. Later it was joy at doing good. 

Still there were times he did wrong. Needed discipline. Hosea didn’t mind being the bad guy. Allowing Dutch to do the comforting. 

They wouldn’t dare lay a hand on him. They wouldn’t hit a child anyway, but Arthur’s reaction the first time they got mad cemented it. 

They had told him to stay put but he had ended up getting spooked and moving. 

They were more worried than angry. Panicked at first when they couldn’t find him, too worked up to see him flinch back, fear flashing in his eyes before his head lowers.

The ride back was silent, Dutch and Hosea stewing, but they were gonna leave it at that. 

They told him what he did wrong and not to do it again. They would be calm by the morning. 

They told Arthur to untack the horses before supper. 

Less than an hour later he had all three untacked, fully brushed, saddles cleaned and food and water dishes filled. 

They shrugged it off before calling him for dinner. They sat at their makeshift table, three plates set out. 

After a moment they notice Arthur isn’t at the table. They look up to see him standing less than a foot away. Arms wrapped around his torso, head bowed slightly. They can see dried tear tracks on his cheeks, he’s chewing on his bottom lip.

They realize he thinks they’re still angry at him. 

They rise at the same time, both heading for the boy. He then breaks their hearts. 

He steps back from them, a small whimper escaping him, he clutches his arms tighter around himself, starting to shake. 

Their eyes widen. Hosea speaks softly, “Arthur.” He doesn’t answer. Dutch’s voice is a little louder. “Arthur.”

Arthur flinches, looking up but not making eye contact with either of them. New tears fall from his eyes, eyes filled with so much fear it makes Hosea’s heartache. 

He looks back down quickly, head bowing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I won’t do it again. I’ll listen, I promise.”

Dutch takes a small step forward, arm reaching out, intent on easing the boy. It does the opposite. 

Arthur takes another step back, a broken sob escaping him. They are both rendered speechless. Hosea comes to a sickening realization.

“Arthur? Do you think we are going to hit you?”

Dutch’s head whips around, horror and realization mixing on his face. They look back to Arthur, he curls in on himself a little more, head nodding slightly. “I-I was bad. You told me to stay and I didn’t. I need to be punished.”

So much makes sense. How quiet he was on the way back. How quickly he took care of the horses. The extra work he did with them. Why he didn’t sit at the table. 

He didn’t think they were gonna feed him. The third plate meant to show him what he couldn’t have. 

Hosea sees Dutch turn away, trying to control his anger. He knows he’s thinking of the boy’s father. Because he is too. Wishing the bastard was around just so they could hurt him themselves. Dutch takes a deep breath through his nose, turning to Hosea with a pleading look in his eyes.

Hosea understands the silent plea. He holds his hands up in a placating manner, keeps his expression open and honest. He takes slow half steps. “Arthur?” He calls quietly. Arthur doesn’t move. Hosea keeps his voice low, soft. “Look at me, son.” 

Arthur looks up slowly. His eyes are red from crying, his lip raw from biting. He looks terrified. Hosea never wants him to look like this again. He moves slowly towards Arthur, giving him a small smile. “I won’t hurt you, hun.”

Arthur looks confused at the endearment but stays still. Hosea comes to a stop in front of him, kneels to eye level. He can see the mistrust, wondering if anyone’s been kind to him before to get close, only to turn on him. 

He has to push the thought away, he can’t get angry now. He raises his hands. “I’m going to touch you now.” He slowly cradles Arthur’s face in his hands. Giving the boy time to move. He flinches slightly at the contact but doesn’t budge. 

Hosea uses his thumb to wipe some of the tears away. He makes sure Arthur is maintaining eye contact before he speaks. “Arthur, I need you to listen carefully okay?”

Arthur sniffs before nodding. “We will never, ever lay a hand on you.” He pauses a moment, sees a hesitant hope spark in the boy. “What your father did was wrong. You should have never had to experience that. We are bad men. We steal, break the law and even kill people. But we would never dream of hurting you. You made a mistake. An honest mistake. It’ll happen. Little mistakes or big ones. We may get angry, upset, we may lecture you, but then we will bring you home. Feed you, heal you, comfort you. We won’t hit you, starve you or kick you out. You are here to stay. You will never have to live that life again. We promise.”

Arthur lets out a sob, this one not of fear, but relief. He tries to stop himself, to wipe away his tears but Dutch catches his hand, “It’s okay, son. Let it out.” Arthur falls against them with relieved sobs. His head is buried in Dutch’s shoulder, his left hand gripping his shirt. His right is clenched in Hosea’s jacket. Unwilling to let either of them go.

He cries himself to sleep, slumping bonelessly against them. They carry him to bed, tucking him in, neither getting much sleep that night.

The next morning Arthur seems shy, but with a warm smile and some breakfast pushed his way things relax. Arthur’s embarrassment being forgotten in light of his hunger. 

It was even better after that. Arthur truly relaxing with them. Fully understanding he was safe. But there was still a wall between him and Hosea. One that wasn’t there with Dutch. Arthur had started calling Dutch Dad. He didn’t do it in front of Hosea, but he had overheard it. Hosea knew why. Though he cared for the boy he wasn’t sure he saw him as a son. 

Or maybe he did. But didn’t want to admit it. He was hesitant to take him in, told Dutch he would help with the boy but he wouldn’t get attached. He can feel the 'I told you so'. 

He wasn’t even sure Arthur saw him that way. A part of him hoped the boy did, but he didn’t want to force anything.

One night changed that.

It was a simple job, all was going well until their getaway. Dutch got bucked from his horse. It wasn’t too bad, he got back up immediately and they were off. 

He was sore, ribs bruised but not broken. Arthur was at his side all night, wanting to help in any way he could. Though Dutch usually hated being coddled he found it endearing. 

Eventually they retired to bed. Hosea was woken later by a clap of thunder. He was about to go back to sleep when he heard a whimper. 

At first he wasn’t sure he had actually heard it. But another clap of thunder was followed by another whimper. He looked over to Dutch to find the man dead to the world. 

His mind immediately goes to Arthur. The storm was probably scaring the boy. He had told them once his father had locked him outside one night during a thunderstorm. It caused a fear of the storms. It had gotten better but hadn't fully gone away yet. Usually, it would be Dutch going to comfort Arthur, but Hosea was hesitant to bother the man.

So he gets up slowly, listening for any more sounds. He makes his way to Arthur's small tent nearby, finding him in the throngs of a nightmare. The thunder startling him even in his sleep. 

He shakes the boy gently, not wanting to scare him more. Arthur’s eyes fly open, he sits upright in shock, eyes flitting around. “Dad?” He sounds scared. Hosea thinks maybe he should've gotten Dutch up.

Hosea puts his hand back on Arthur’s shoulder. “No son, it’s me.”

He expects his name, maybe even disappointment. What he doesn’t expect is for Arthur to yell Pa and launch himself at Hosea. 

He catches him easily, Arthur burrowing into Hosea’s arms clinging to him for dear life. 

He’s shaking in fear, the thunder scaring him more than it had in a while. Probably lingering fear from watching Dutch be bucked off his horse. 

Hosea wraps his arms around Arthur, shushing him. He sways slightly, running his hand over Arthur’s hair. 

Arthur stops shaking, seeming to be calm in his arms, even with the thunderstorm. Hosea wonders if Arthur calling him Pa was accidental. He didn’t want to ask, not now anyway. But he wouldn’t need to, Arthur’s voice catching his attention. 

“Pa?” It’s hesitant, but it makes Hosea’s heart swell. He rubs Arthur’s back. “Yes, son?” He can feel Arthur breathe a sigh of relief, almost like he was afraid he would be rejected by Hosea. “Is Dad okay?” Hosea doesn’t halt his motions, “A little grumpy but just fine.” He hears Arthur let out a weak laugh. 

They sit in their embrace for a little longer before Hosea feels Arthur start to fall asleep again. “You ready to go back to sleep?” Arthur startles awake. He shakes his head no, burying his face in Hosea’s shoulder. He shakes his head fondly. “Did you want to come back to our tent?” Arthur nods slightly.

Hosea and Arthur raise, Arthur barely letting go. He flinches at the thunder, louder than before. The storm passing over them. 

They arrive at Dutch and Hosea’s tent. They enter, Dutch still fast sleep. 

It wasn’t much of a setup, just two bedrolls next to each other. Hosea retakes his place, allowing Arthur to choose where he wants to be.

He chooses to wiggle in between the two of them. At first, he is facing Dutch, watching him sleep. Eased at seeing him breathe. Then the thunder claps again, the storm right over them. Arthur lets out a startled gasp, turning to burrow his face in Hosea’s chest. He pulls Arthur into his arms again, rubbing his back until he falls asleep. 

The thunder is still loud but Arthur has fallen asleep, Hosea eventually looks up, only to find Dutch watching him with a knowing smile. The thunder must’ve finally woken him. Hosea gives him a warning glare. Dutch giving a return look as if to say, I don’t know what you mean. 

He scoots closer, wrapping an arm around both Arthur and Hosea. They fall asleep wrapped around each other. 

It was from that day on Arthur called him Pa. 

And he truly called Arthur his son.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be changing things coming up. I'm not letting people die.

Things were good for once. Money was coming in at a steady rate. Food had been decent, the stew tasting good for once. 

Everybody was getting along. All except Micah of course but that was to be expected.

His relationship with John had improved, his friendship with Charles strengthening. Hosea and Dutch finally allowing him out of camp after nearly two weeks.

Only on hunting trips with Charles or supply runs into town. All accompanied of course. He wasn’t to hunt anything bigger than a deer though or do any of the lifting. 

A part of him was annoyed. He was going crazy, not a moment to himself. Truly to himself. Sure, he could be alone in camp but there was always someone nearby. He longed for the true solitude of his outings. 

But he understood, he did almost die. They were worried. Besides, even with his energy returning and his wounds healing, his shoulder was still paining him. It would be a while until it stopped. If it ever did.

But small twinges of pain he can deal with. At least it wasn’t aching like it was before. 

The whole camp changed what they did, everyone finally realized how much Arthur did. The chores were assigned daily, kept a strict eye on by Grimshaw. She was apologetic, not knowing how hard she was working him. 

Others were apologizing as well, for not doing their jobs or thanking him for all he did. He brushed it off. Not wanting the attention, though it felt nice to be thanked for his work.

People would now be after him about eating. Making sure he was drinking enough water. Some more than others. He didn’t mind this; most would just bring him the food and leave him on his own. Some would sit silently with him, like Charles or Hosea. John or Dutch, sometimes Lenny, would sit and talk. They never expected replies. They knew he would listen but he preferred to stay silent.

With the food he ate and the forced bed rest he was healing quickly. He was bored though. He would read, write or draw. Play with Jack, sit with the girls while they worked. Play dominoes or cards. He was losing his mind. Even with the hunting trips. He needed action. But he thought it best to wait a little longer. Until he could stop wincing when his shoulder would twinge.

He knew his fathers noticed, still sending him worried glances. Slightly guilty ones in Dutch’s case, despite his assurance all, was fine. His relationships with them had never been better. The camp had barely blinked when he started calling them Dad and Pa. The girls all cooed over it, even when he glared at them. 

He had even heard John doing it a couple of times. They had finally started acting like brothers again. Arthur now noticing how much he had been missing John. Missed his family. Fishing with Hosea. Reading with Dutch. John would sit and draw with him like they used to, Arthur giving him pointers on how to improve.

He didn’t always share what he drew. All three of them have seen some drawing. Not all of them. Even Charles had seen a few. Usually, the ones he did of animals. He knew people were curious, hell he would be too. Though he didn’t let anyone read anything. 

He was a man of few words, but he could write for hours. Where he would struggle to share his thoughts or feelings, he could easily write them out. Maybe because he knew his journal couldn’t react. Couldn’t hurt him. There were no repercussions to writing it.

He never had issues talking openly to Hosea. Somehow, he knew it was safe. Like no matter what he told Hosea, his Pa would still love him. Though he doubted Dutch would ever hate him, Hosea felt safer in a way. That’s why he didn’t hesitate to complain about his situation to Hosea but didn’t breathe a word to Dutch.

Hosea took it all in stride, not telling Dutch either. He understood Arthur just need an outlet. He would go to Dutch if he really needed to. But it was more about just being heard than anything.

It had been close to a month. Arthur was clearly itching to rejoin the action. Sending glares Dutch’s way every time he wasn’t sent along. Anytime he said he was ready he was met with a ‘soon’ from Dutch. One day Arthur sends an exasperated look Hosea’s way. He nods in response. Arthur's look turning grateful before retreating to his tent. 

Hosea approaches Dutch, who is sitting on his cot reading. He looks up as Hosea enters. “Walk with me.” Dutch’s eyebrows raise but Hosea just turns and walks out, heading for the shore. He knows Dutch will follow. Once they’re down by the water, out of earshot, he stops and turns to Dutch. “I know you know what this is about.”

Dutch nods, looking slightly guilty. “I know. It’s just-.” Hosea cuts him off. “I know. You don’t have to explain it to me. But he’s healed. He has had no problems hunting. He’s clearly eager to return to work.”

Dutch nods again, gaze turning to the water behind Hosea. “Every time I close my eyes.” He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t need to. Hosea sees the same thing. He doubts he will ever stop seeing it. “Me too.” Dutch’s gaze returns to Hosea. “Start small. Homesteads, reconnaissance. Maybe a stagecoach. Work up. Then you’ll feel better about sending him back in after weeks away.” 

Dutch looks like he’s thinking it over, brow furrowed, He hums, the sighs. “I guess so. If I don’t give him something soon, he’ll just go get something himself.” Hosea agrees, an amused chuckle leaving his lips.

He waits a moment, hoping Dutch will talk to him. Lift some of the weight off his shoulders. Finally, after a few minutes of silence Dutch sighs, running a hand down his face. “I know he’s more than capable and he’s healed but…” He pauses, chewing on his bottom lip in worry. Something he would never do if it wasn’t just the two of them. “I can’t stop thinking about what he went through. About how much he worked before. I’m hesitant to let him fall back into that.”

So is Hosea. Almost losing Arthur was incredibly hard. The fear, the guilt. He can’t imagine how much worse Dutch feels, with him being the one to agree to the parlay. And with them returning to how they were at the beginning. The gap they were unaware of, closed. Neither of them wants it to reopen. “We’ll make sure he doesn’t. We’ll tie him to his cot if we have to.”

Dutch laughs at the statement, looking a bit less worried. “Alright, I’ll send him out tomorrow. Though he’s not going alone yet.” Hosea shakes his head fondly, “Of course. Though I think he’ll take whatever he can get right now.” They spend some time just listening to the night before returning to camp.

The next day they are in front of Dutch’s tent, studying a map. Trying to find a better place to go. Hosea sees Arthur nearby, and gives Dutch a look, heading to the table nearby. He feigns reading, but he’s within earshot on purpose. 

Dutch calls out after a minute. “Charles, Arthur? A moment?” Both make their way over, probably assuming they’re being sent hunting again. “I have a job for you boys.”

Hosea can see Arthur perk up; eyes excited. Dutch hands him a piece of paper. “I have some homesteads that are said to have some good takings. If you two could check them out. Bring us back whatever you find.” 

Arthur looks ready to run to his horse, he’s practically bouncing. Charles has a small smile on his face, clearly enjoying Arthur’s excitement. Dutch sends an amused glance to Hosea. He turns back to his map, “Be careful boys.” Arthur’s eyes are still glued to the paper, “Course, Dad.” He turns and starts to his tent to prepare, Charles doing the same. 

It doesn’t take long before they are walking towards their horses, Arthur making a detour on the way. He stops before Hosea; he gives him such a happy look it makes Hosea smile wider. Glad to see his boy smile. “Thanks, Pa.” Hosea gives him a fond look, “Just be careful.” Arthur places his hand on Hosea’s “I will.” He gives it a squeeze before joining Charles at the hitching posts.

Hosea watches them until they both disappear into the trees. Of course, he will worry, he did even before. A part of him always will, but it is lessened knowing it’s a simple job and he has Charles beside him. He trusts Mr. Smith to take care of his boy.

He makes his way back to Dutch’s side, intent on distracting the man from his own worry.


	9. Chapter 9

Sean was lucky. Extremely lucky. He was also shaken up. Obvious by the fact that he doesn’t say a word as he wraps Arthur’s arm. They had been heading to the sheriff’s office in Rhodes, a protection detail for the Grays. 

But something felt wrong. It was pure luck Arthur’s eyes flicked to the rooftop. Noticed the gun barrel at the last moment. He had managed to duck Sean’s head out of the way of the incoming bullet, Arthur getting it in the upper arm instead. His left of course. He curses, that his shoulder had just healed. They practically killed the entire force, but they all came out alive. 

Sean wordlessly pulls bandages from his saddlebag, wrapping them tightly around Arthur’s still bleeding arm. Arthur winces, thinking of the bullet still in his arm and of how he had just barely begun to work again. 

He stops himself from sighing. He would take the injury over Sean’s death. The others had been quiet as well, departing for camp quickly. Sean following Arthur back silently, still bothered by the whole event.

They returned to the camp alive with activity. Apparently, Jack had almost been taken. If it wasn’t for Sadie, he would have been. Arthur barely has time to be angry before they were being surrounded. Sean being pulled away, asked if he was alright. Arthur himself was ushered to Dutch’s tent. Dutch and Hosea meeting him on the way.

Their worried hands pushing him onto Dutch’s cot. The flaps are closed for privacy as the bandages are unbound and he’s helped out of his coat and shirt. His union suit being unbuttoned and worked off his arms. 

He’s in a daze, still trying to process what happened. He is passed a bottle and he drinks instinctively, wincing at the burn of whisky. 

Dutch and Hosea work in silence, only broken by the occasional warning as the bullet is removed, the wound cleaned, stitched, and rebandaged. He takes another swig as Hosea cleans up. Him and Dutch sitting on chairs in front of him. Both with worried expressions. “I’m fine.”

It’s the first thing he’s said since returning. It’s Hosea who answers, “We know. And we’re glad no one was killed. We just worry. You’ve just finished healing.” Arthur fights the urge to roll his shoulder. “I know, but I’ve worked with this kind of injury before.”

His silent plea is heard. Please don’t confine me to camp again. Hosea can see Dutch’s reluctance, but he relents. “Okay, but a few days of rest first. After tonight.” 

He rises from his chair. Arthur seems relieved then confused. Hosea speaks before he can, “Tonight?” Dutch nods, “Yes, we are going to pay Mrs. Braithwaite a visit. I don’t doubt she told the Grays about our involvement but most importantly, she tried to have young Jack kidnapped.”

The anger at the news resurfaces, redressing quickly they exit the tent. They mount their horses as the others follow. The whisky is enough to dull the pain but not enough to affect his shooting. It is over quickly; they leave a burning mansion behind them. 

Arthur and John soon heading to Shady Belle to clear out any stragglers. John’s worried gaze follows him but vanishes as they easily take care of the men. 

It is several hours later, once everyone is settled, that Sean finds him sitting on the back steps of the house. “Hey.” The redhead is still oddly quiet. He sits to the right of Arthur on the steps. “How’s the arm?”

Arthur gives him an unimpressed look, “It’s fine.” The Irishman falls quiet again. Arthur sighs, “Look man, you being so quiet is starting to freak me out.” Sean snorts, “Oh my apologies English, didn’t mean ‘ta be a bother to ya.” 

Arthur nods, “That’s better.” Sean shakes his head, a smile finally on his face. It fades after a moment. “Arthur?” He sounds so young. Arthur thinking how short his life could’ve been. “Thank you.” Sean looks at him, his face a mixture of fear and gratefulness, “Really. Ya saved my life.”

Arthur gives him a genuine smile, bumping their shoulders, “Well who else is going to annoy me around here?” He can tell by the returned smile that Sean understands the underlying meaning. They may torture each other but Arthur really did care for the kid. Like an annoying little brother. Sometimes he wants to punch the guy, but he would never want to see him shot dead.

“Well heal fast, I need someone watching ‘ma back.” Arthur can’t help the chuckle as Sean leaves. He takes a deep breath, trying not to focus on the new pain in his arm. 

He sits for a while more before retiring to his room, something he’s not used to but could definitely get used to. Taking out his journal to write out the events of the day, he thinks about how fast it all happened and how much worse it could have been.

And how lucky they are.


	10. Chapter 10

He didn’t trust Micah. No one did. Except Dutch for some reason. Since the moment he joined them, Arthur hated the man. He made his skin crawl, his stomach turn. Interacting with the man left a bad taste in his mouth. 

Sure, he saved Dutch’s life, but so had the majority of them. Most of them more than once. 

So, Arthur has no idea why Dutch keeps him around. Trouble is always following the man. He insults everybody. Yeah, he’d occasionally bring them a job with a good score, but it was rare. 

Micah’s carelessness almost cost Sean his life. And the parlay…

Only two people knew where he was. One of which was the one to suggest the position. He didn’t like it, the whole thing giving him an uneasy feeling. The man was trouble and would only bring them more.

Arthur knew Dutch didn’t like cutting people loose without good reason. He didn’t know how to show his father what he saw. He ended up expressing his concerns to Charles on one of their hunting trips. Charles proceeds to help him plan out his next move.

He suggests talking to the camp members first. Everyone that would want Micah out and wouldn’t hesitate at saying so. Get them on his side, ready to back him up if the need arises. He should even talk to Hosea separately. It’s then he should talk to Dutch. Really talk. Tell him everything. His thoughts and feelings on Micah. Tell him who in the camp agrees that they want Micah gone.

It wouldn’t be easy but it needed to be done. Before it was too late. Knowing it was his best bet, Arthur started to plan out what he would say when they returned. 

By the end of the week, he had the majority of the camp behind him. He didn’t bother with a few people. Not wanting to argue with Bill. Not caring what Strauss thought and knowing Kieran’s opinion wouldn’t mean much yet. 

He went fishing with Hosea the day before. He had told the man everything. Hosea agreed they should get rid of Micah and was pleased with Arthur’s progress so far. They agreed to talk to Dutch together.

They waited until Micah left camp, a little more relaxed with him gone. They ask Dutch to talk privately. They end up in his tent, flaps tied closed. Dutch is sitting on his cot. Arthur is standing in front of him with Hosea seated nearby. 

Arthur crosses his arms and declares sternly, “Micah needs to go.” Dutch opens his mouth but Arthur cuts him off, “Please Dad, just listen first.” Dutch closes his mouth, sensing how serious this was. “I know he saved you, and he occasionally brings good scores but that man is more hassle than he’s worth. He is constantly starting arguments and fights. Both in and out of camp. He never does any work in the camp. He rarely brings in anything. Money or otherwise. Nobody here trusts him. You sent him to scout ahead and he got drunk, shot people, and got arrested. I broke him out, only because you asked. He had me shoot up half a town to make a house call. Which was him murdering a man and his girl for his guns. Plus, his carelessness in Rhodes nearly got Sean killed.”

Arthur stops for a moment, breathing through the anger he always feels when it comes to Micah. Dutch isn’t visibly reacting but Arthur can see the wheels in his head turning. “Now I don’t have solid proof, but the parlay don't sit right with me. Micah suggested I go up there. He was the only one to know besides us and we learned on the way. He wasn’t bothered by my disappearance. Tell me that don’t seem suspicious.” 

That does garner a reaction. Dutch’s eyebrows raise in surprise, then lower in an almost angry position. Arthur could see the conflict in his eyes. “Dad, please. I’ve talked to basically everyone in camp. They all agree he can’t be trusted. That they would like him out. Remember the last time we had someone like this in camp? What happened then?” Treachery happened. Arthur wasn’t going to let it happen again. 

Hosea had been quiet until that point, he now put forth an idea. “I agree, Micah needs to go. Take a vote. We’ve done it before when members have caused too much trouble. He’ll be gone for another day at least. Take a vote before he returns. Decide how you want to go about this. I have no doubt the vote will be to cut Micah loose. They all want him gone.”

Dutch nods, thoughts still swirling. They know they won’t be getting an answer tonight. They leave silently, letting Dutch think. 

The next morning, they are just finishing breakfast when Dutch calls everyone’s attention. “Good morning all. I have something important to address. I’ve received many complaints about a certain member of our family. Enough that it has concerned me. I am concerned about the safety of everyone here and he has started to pose a threat to said safety.”

Arthur can feel several looks sent his way, everyone already knowing what is going on. Despite their assurances of support, Arthur still feels nervous. Dutch continues, “Now I know everyone already knows who I’m talking about so let’s cut to the chase. A show of hands for all those in favour of cutting Micah from the gang.” 

Arthur feels relief as all hands rise instantly. Dutch nods, “Can’t say I’m surprised. When Micah returns, he will be told. As of right now, there will be no violence against him.” Arthur hears grumbles around him, “I know some of you may want to take a different approach, but we have a specific way we do things. We will try to do things peacefully. Until then please return to your day.”

Everyone disperses, Arthur, feeling a weight lifted off him. He sees Hosea talk to Dutch before walking away. He approaches the man. “Thank you.” It comes out quiet, almost breathy. Like he can’t believe this to be true. Dutch gives him a smile. “No son, thank you. For coming to me. For trusting me enough to tell me what you did.” Dutch places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “I will always trust you over others. I’m glad you knew that.” 

He gives the shoulder a squeeze before entering his tent. Arthur breathes another relieved sigh. Micah would return within the next day. Then he would be out of their lives.

Hopefully forever.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. Micah says a bad word. Also give me some ideas of what you’d like to see! Thank you guys for all the comments! I reread them all the time and it makes me so happy every time!

Micah returned at noon the next day. Arthur stayed well away as Dutch approached him. Or at least he tried. 

To no one’s surprise there soon was yelling, Arthur looking up from feeding the chickens as it got closer. He sees Micah heading towards him, Dutch trailing behind. 

Micah pushes him, he falls back a step, wincing as his arm and shoulder twinge in pain. Charles steps up beside him. He can see Hosea and John on one side. Javier and Lenny not too far away. 

“The fuck is the problem, cowpoke?” Micah is enraged. Dutch grabs his shoulder, Micah shrugs him off. “What? I crossed daddy’s boy and now I’m out is that it?” He tries to move closer to Arthur but Dutch steps in front of him. “Enough.”

Dutch doesn’t yell but he is heard by everyone. The whole camp stopping, even Micah. “You were voted out. By everyone. The complaints were from everyone. Your few good deeds are heavily outweighed by all the bad. Now you can pack your belongings and leave peacefully or I can have you escorted out.” Dutch is every bit, Dutch Van Der Linde, right now. No one dares to breathe.

Micah finally utters a curse, returning to where he is camped, gathering his belongings. Suddenly Dutch isn’t the leader anymore but a concerned father. He turns to Arthur, “You alright? He hit your wound.” There’s a slight ache in his arm but it’s barely noticeable. “I’m alright.”

They hear more noise behind them, see Micah putting up a fuss. Dutch rolls his eyes and makes his way over to the commotion. Micah seemed to hope someone was on his side, but he soon realized no one was. He was getting desperate. 

Dutch was now in the midst, trying to regain control. It worked for the others. Not for Micah, his hand drifting to his gun, the others mimicking his stance. 

Arthur gets closer, staying out of Micah’s eye line. He sees Micah’s hand move, Arthur draws his gun as fast as he can, shouting a warning. “Dad!” 

He shoots but it’s a moment too late. Though his warning allows Dutch to move, dodging the knife to the chest, it sinks into his left shoulder instead. Arthur’s bullet hits the mark. Micah falling to the ground with a hole in his head. 

He runs to where John is kneeling with Dutch, Hosea arriving at the same time. The knife had been removed, John already putting pressure on the wound. “You okay?” Arthur asks as he kneels next to Dutch, his eyes move to the knife nearby. Blood only covered half the blade, so it didn’t go in as far as it could have. Still, it was bleeding profusely and would need stitches.

Dutch isn’t showing any pain but Arthur can see he’s hiding it. Hosea speaks up, “John, Arthur. Help Dutch to his tent, I’ll grab some supplies and join you. The rest of you clean this up and get this body burnt.”

Arthur braces Dutch’s other side as they lead him to his tent. Once the flaps are down Dutch lets out a shaky breath, pain now showing on his face. They sit him down on his cot. John keeps pressure on the wound as Arthur digs out some whisky, passing it to Dutch. He downs a few mouthfuls right away. 

Hosea enters, hands full of bandages and medicine. He takes over from John, instructing him to heat some water for them. Arthur sits on Dutch’s other side. Helping when he’s told. Soon John returns. Dutch's vest and shirt are unbuttoned, the vest being removed and his shirt being moved off the injured shoulder. The blood is cleaned up, Hosea inspecting the wound. “I don’t think it hit anything important. I do need to stitch it though.” 

Dutch nods, taking a long swing of the whisky, passing it to Hosea to sterilize with. He hisses when it’s poured on his wound. Arthur takes Dutch’s hand in both of his, Dutch giving him a pained smile. Hosea finishes quickly. “You two are giving me too much practice.” Dutch huffs a laugh, “Sorry, Old Girl.” Hosea pours more whisky over Dutch’s shoulder in response. Passing the bottle back to the younger man before bandaging the wound.

“John, you should check on Jack. He’s probably frightened with all the noise.” John nods, knowing he’s being told to leave for a moment. He takes the bucket of water with him as he goes. “I’ll go get you both something to eat.” With that Hosea leaves them alone, Dutch pulling his shirt back onto his shoulder but not bothering to button it.

“If you apologize to me, I will whack you upside the head.” Arthur opens and closes his mouth for a moment. “But…” Dutch interrupts him, “No. No buts. You were right about Micah. Only proved more with his attack. No one is upset he’s dead. At least we won’t have to worry about him talking.”

Arthur leans his forehead against Dutch’s shoulder. He feels Dutch press a kiss atop his head. “It’s a small price to pay. Don’t feel guilty. Don’t blame yourself. If it wasn’t for you it could have been a lot worse.”

They sit together until Hosea returns with lunch. The three of them eating together, being joined by John shortly after. The four of them enjoying an afternoon talking. A sense of calm washing over them.

They part for supper, Hosea insisting Dutch turn in early. Suggesting Arthur do the same. Arthur and John both calling out at the same time, “Night, Dad. Night, Pa.” It causes laughter between the four of them. 

The air of the camp is lighter. Everyone seeming happier. After a quick supper, Arthur does decide to turn in early, laying down to sleep.

Feeling fully relaxed for the first time in a while.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So no TB in this fic. I can't bring myself to do it. But lunavenger mentioned the camp actually caring when Arthur got sick. So here's a little bit of that. I'll add more comfort for sick Arthur and the caring camp in the future.

Weeks went by quickly. Money was good and they were actually staying under the radar for once. It was nothing but smooth sailing. So of course, something went wrong.

It started with a cough. Nothing but a tickle at first but people noticed, getting him water whenever they heard him. Hosea bringing him teas when it started getting worse. Pearson would set aside cups of broth for him. 

It was nice, the little things people were doing for him. But he was trying to ignore the problem. 

It worked at first. He assumed he was just extra tired due to the coughing. It was interrupting his sleep as well. His headache and sore throat being of the same reason. 

But he was hacking by now. Full body coughs. It would leave him breathless, an ache in his chest. He would get concerned glances but he brushed them off. Tried to hold back what he could when he was in front of anyone. 

He coughed stuff up occasionally, but only phlegm. No blood thankfully. It was green though, he remembered hearing somewhere that green meant you were sick but he wasn’t sure how true that was.

Still, he refused to believe he was sick. Hiding his sniffles, his headache, not admitting he was cold despite the heat. Not telling anyone the stew seemed blander to him than usual. 

He’ll tough it out. 

He stayed in camp but still did his chores. Even those were getting difficult. Exhausting him more than they should. One day, when he finished chopping the wood, he coughed hard enough that pain erupted in his side. He couldn’t hold back the pained yelp. All surrounding eyes were on him in an instant.

He wanted to wave them off, claim he was fine but it hurt to breathe. He knew the pain of an injured rib all too well. Though he couldn’t distinguish exactly what he’d done. He doesn’t move, hand cradling the first rib right under his chest, eye closed, and focused on breathing. 

He opens them when he hears someone approaching. Abigail, with her eyes shining with concern. Others were hovering nearby, mirroring Abigail’s concern. She seems unsure what to do to help. He gives her one word. “Pa.”

She nods, turning towards the house. Stride determined as she disappears inside, reappearing a few moments later with Hosea in tow. Together they help him sit on a crate nearby. Hosea instructing him to breathe through the pain. He manages, lessening the ache in his chest. Hosea moves Arthur’s hand to press at his right side, muttering an apology at Arthur’s wince. A few more presses before he finally stops. “Dislocated. Nothing too serious, should heal within a couple of weeks. For the time being no more chores. No heavy lifting or sudden movements”

Arthur can’t even be upset at the order, honestly, the chores had become harder and harder recently, he’s relieved to get a break. He nods his agreement, lets Hosea and Abigail help him up to his room. Hosea helps him remove his boots, he sits on his bed and reclines against the wall. He passes the time writing in his journal. 

He doesn’t even realize he had started dozing until he is startled awake by a knock on the door. He sees Hosea enter with a bowl of stew. He takes it with a small smile, eating very slowly. He’s startled again by a hand on his forehead. He looks up to Hosea frowning in concern. 

He suddenly stands and exits the room. Arthur blinks slowly, unsure what just happened. After a moment he reappears with Dutch at his heels. Suddenly Dutch’s hand is on his forehead, the same concerned frown Hosea had now adorning Dutch’s face. 

Arthur hums a questioning noise, too tired to speak. Their eyes flick to him. Dutch gently takes the half-empty stew bowl from his hands, Arthur forgetting he even had it. He gently lays Arthur down, Hosea dimming the light in the room. Dutch pulls the covers over Arthur. “You’ve got a fever.” Does he? Funny, he feels cold. “I think it’s time you went to the doctor.” 

Arthur groans. He hates the doctor. Dutch runs his hand through Arthur’s hair, “I know, but this isn’t getting better. Best go now than wait any longer.” True, if he had to go it might as well be while he can walk in. Save him some dignity at least. “Rest Arthur. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” It takes him seconds to fall asleep.

The morning brings him some clarity, though his mind is still foggy. He can definitely tell he has a fever. Still, he dreads a visit to the doctor. For one, riding to town with his sore rib is not going to be pleasant. Second, he hates doctors. 

But he agrees to go, on one condition. He chooses who goes with him. If he had to go, he doesn’t want his fathers hovering over him the entire time. They weren’t very happy but relented when he said he wanted to take Charles. They knew he wouldn’t budge and even sick they wouldn’t be able to force him. 

So, they sent him off with the instruction to go there and back. No side trips, no lingering. Not that he has energy for it anyway.

He’s glad they let him take Charles. He trusts the man. He knows he won’t think less of him because he’s sick. He also knows the man will let him ride to Saint Denis in silence. 

During the ride he tries to think what it could be. If he came across anyone sick. His heart almost stops when he remembers. Downes. The man was very sick. Tuberculosis. Could it be? The man did spit at him but he moved out of the way, getting the bloody spit on his shoulder instead of the face. He even stopped at a river on the way back to wash it off along with his bloody knuckles. Feeling sick at what he’d done.

He really hoped it wasn’t but there would be a certain sick sense of irony in it. 

After what feels like hours they arrive. He lets Charles take the lead, following him inside. He’s drifting as Charles tells the doctor his symptoms. He’s taken to an examination room. The doctor listens to his lungs, looks at his throat. He asks if anything had happened to cause this. Maybe being caught in the rain and not being able to get dry for a while? Or perhaps a swimming accident? Swallowed some water the wrong way?

It takes a minute for the memory to resurface. He tells the doctor about almost being drowned in a trough by some angry drunk men. It’s not a lie, though he leaves out the part where they were angry because he was picking through their saddlebags. 

The doctor nods, says there sounds like there’s fluid in his lungs. All things together he believes it’s pneumonia. Arthur almost cries out in relief. It was a nasty sickness yes, but survivable. 

The doctor gives Charles medicines and instructions on when to take what. He orders bed rest, stating how important it is. It wasn’t too bad at the moment but if he didn’t take care properly it could become deadly. Charles takes it all in, promising to take good care of Arthur. 

He’s never been happier to have pneumonia. It’s a silly thought but it could have been so much worse. Charles helps him back onto his horse, the short trip draining what little energy he had. 

It’s shortly afternoon when they return to camp, a group of worried campmates meeting them as they enter. There’s a ripple of relief when Charles explains. They’ve fought this sickness before in camp. They know how to defeat it. 

Arthur is shepherded to his room. He is half asleep already, Hosea and Dutch helping him change into lighter clothes. He’s made to drink some medicine, followed by a cup of broth. They have to keep urging him on so he doesn’t fall asleep with the cup in his hands.

Finally, he finishes, he all but falls against someone. They go to move him off but are stopped at Arthur’s sound of protest. He is left where he is, finally falling into a deep sleep. 

Hosea can’t help but smile. Arthur had practically passed out against Dutch. The man not having the heart to move his son when he protested. Hosea wishes he had a camera to capture this moment. Or even Arthur’s talent so he could draw it. He won’t forget it though; it will be filed alongside other moments like this. 

Hosea retrieves himself and Dutch a book each, settling down to keep an eye on his son and partner. He lets himself get taken in by his book, not realizing the time passing around him. Until he shuts the book sometime later.

He goes to move and notices his entire body aches. He must’ve been sitting in the same position longer than he thought. He checks his watch. Midnight. It had been almost two by the time Arthur went to sleep. It’s been about ten hours. No wonder he hurt. He’s not surprised though; he’s lost himself in books for longer. Tuning out everything around him. Though only when he knows he’s safe. Sitting with Dutch and Arthur he let himself get immersed in the story.

He wonders briefly if anyone came to check on them and he didn’t hear them. He looks to the bed to see Dutch as asleep as Arthur. They are in the same position if a little more reclined. Dutch’s book is open, set on the side table. Looks like he got about halfway through before losing the fight with sleep.

Hosea pulls the covers up over Arthur’s back, glad to feel his fever is no worse. He notices Arthur’s breathing is better, with no coughing. He knows it’s the position they’re in, almost sitting up. Though he may be sore from it, at least he’s getting sleep. Probably the reason Dutch didn’t move.

Hosea gives one more look at the two, feeling the love that fills him at the sight. He shuts the door quietly, walking the short distance to his and Dutch’s room. He’s grateful for the bed as he stretches his sore limbs. 

He finally lets himself relax, letting go of the worry he’s had since Arthur started coughing. 

He would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! You can actually dislocate a rib by coughing too hard! I did it! Couple of years ago. Coughed hard enough to dislocate one and the trip to the ER revealed I had pneumonia. I had just thought it was a flu or a really bad cold. It was not fun.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short fluffy bit I wrote today. I may have bullshitted at some points but it's about the fluff. Anything else you guys want? Also I was thinking of having Charles/Arthur in this. Thoughts?

It had barely been a week since his visit to the doctor. He felt slightly better, a little more energized than before. His cough was still bad but was noticeably improving. He hadn’t had a fever for at least two days.

So, he had been given the opportunity to move around the camp. Of course, his rib still hurt and he tired easy but he was happy to be out of his room. The muggy swamp air seeming fresh compared to a week in his room. 

He mostly sat and watched. Watched the girls sew and Jack play with Cain. Watched the chores being done and the stew being prepared. Watched the life of the camp. 

It set him at ease, the familiar sights and sounds. He was still unused to having a room. While he did enjoy the privacy, he was so used to sleeping surrounded by others it was hard to adjust. 

So, he spent his days outside. Sitting at one of the fires or the tables. He would be constantly asked if he was okay. If he needed anything. He would be brought water whenever he coughed particularly hard. Meals being brought to him without even having to ask. 

Some would sit and talk with him, play cards or dominoes. Help him pass the time. He tried to offer his help with some of the small chores but they wouldn’t even let him do those. 

After some time, he borrowed books from Dutch or Hosea. Even rereading those Evelyn Miller ones Dutch always seemed so entranced by. He took extra time to try and understand what was being said. He even brought up some of his questions to Dutch, thinking he just wasn’t smart enough to get it.

Turns out he was wrong. His questions are met with a proud look and an excited talk about the book. Dutch explaining, he was indeed ‘getting it’. It was all about opinion. Point of view. Man, vs nature. Man, vs man. They were still learning. It made his head spin with a thousand more questions. Questions Dutch was more than happy to counteract with his own.

They must’ve talked for hours, hopping from subject to subject. Admittedly Dutch did most of the speaking but Arthur held his own. 

For once in his life Arthur didn’t feel stupid. He knew he had it better than most. A lot of folks never learned to read or write. He was lucky in that aspect, but he never fancied himself a smart man. Leaving the thinking to Dutch and Hosea. He was the muscle. A big brute to shoot first and ask questions never. He kept his mouth shut, putting his words into his journal instead.

But it was nice to talk about something different for once. No plans or Pinkertons. Both Hosea and Lenny joining them, the four of them half discussing half arguing. Sides being taken, opinions are thrown around. Though it was all in good spirit, no hard feeling would be kept if they didn’t agree with one another. 

It was a nice change. The four of them eventually devolving into reminiscing, all sitting on the double bed in Dutch and Hosea’s room. 

The two men themselves sitting side by side, leaning against the headboard. Lenny and Arthur sat at the other end, both with their legs crossed in front of them. 

They had all shed their boots, Hosea had an extra pillow behind him. Arthur hugging one to his chest, leaning some of his weight on it. 

They were telling stories of their pasts. Both new and old, things that would bring some humour or joy to them. They really looked like a family; Lenny was practically bent in half with laughter. Arthur trying not to do the same, not wanting to aggravate his cough. Hosea chuckled fondly as Dutch spoke through his own laughter, gesturing with his left hand. His right entwined with Hosea’s; their shoulders pressed together.

They knew they could be heard outside, the others probably curious about their conversation. Arthur was surprised John hadn’t shown up but he was probably letting Lenny have his own time with them. Both Lenny and Tilly having wiggled their way into the younger sibling roll for the both of them. 

It was well past dark out when they finally admitted they should turn in. Hosea making Lenny promise to see that Arthur eats something before he goes to bed. He pokes fun at the kid but lets himself be ushered towards the main campfire anyway.

He takes a seat at the almost empty fire as Lenny grabs them some of the leftover stew. The only other person there was Kieran. Finally, comfortable enough to sit at the main campfire, though he kept to himself. 

Lenny passes Arthur his bowl before sitting himself down, drawing Kieran into a conversation. Kieran’s hesitant at first but soon speaks with more confidence. Arthur stays quiet, though he listens. Lenny is asking Kieran about horses. Something the former O’Driscoll obviously knows a lot about.

Once done eating Arthur pats Lenny on the knee, a silent signal he’s turning in. Arthur rises from his seat as Lenny continues his conversation, “Ya know Kieran, you ever wanna talk to someone who really knows horses? Talk to Arthur here. Man is amazing with them and knows pretty much all there is to know about them.” 

Kieran looks to him, surprised, “Really?” Arthur shrugs, it is true. He spent a lot of time learning about horses with any free time he had. He doubts there’s much he doesn’t know. Kieran looks at him, almost hopeful, “Could I?”

It takes a moment to realize the kid is asking permission. To talk to him. About an animal. Jeez. 

He suppresses a scoff, instead trying to look unbothered, “Sure kid, anytime. Night.” He nods to them both, Kieran looking excited at the prospect of someone to share his hobby with. 

He returns to his room, falling into bed with an exhausted sigh. He was clearly still recovering but he felt lighter somehow. The events of the day lifting his spirits. Hopefully, he would be well enough to go hunting soon. Maybe Charles would go with him. 

He drifts off to the thoughts of elk and rabbits, a smile on his face.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will most likely have Charther in this fic but it won't be the main focus. It'll just kind be there now and then. Also thank you pandaattie for the idea for this chapter.

There was still a gap between them. Small but there. 

John and Arthur had reconciled, deciding life was too short to hold onto their anger. John explained his reasons for leaving and eventually returning. Arthur promising to murder the younger if he ever so much as thinks of leaving Jack again. Even John's fights with Abigail were lessening. The only thing left was Jack. 

John tried; he really did. But he just couldn't figure out how to interact with the kid. They had the occasional sword (stick) fight or played fetch together with Cain, but it wasn't enough. 

John couldn't help but feel jealous watching Arthur with Jack. Not of their relationship itself. He was thrilled that Jack loved his Uncle Arthur so much. No, he was jealous of how effortless it was for Arthur. 

He just didn't get it, Arthur sometimes couldn't deal with other adults, but with Jack he was fine. Maybe it was due to Arthur being around since he was born, or perhaps Arthur was better father material than he was. Whereas he never wanted a kid himself, he knew Arthur secretly did. 

Finally, Abigail calls Jack away and John decides to get an answer. He goes for a blunt approach, walking straight up to Arthur. "How are you so good with him?" Arthur blinks up at him, "Well hello to you too." He drawls sarcastically. John rolls his eyes, waiting for an answer. 

Arthur's eyes flick to Jack then back to John. He seems to come to some sort of decision. "You got some time?" John nods slowly. "Ride with me." They head for the horses, Arthur stopping to whisper to Hosea. Their father seems surprised at whatever Arthur tells him, patting Arthur on the arm before returning to his book. 

Arthur mounts up beside him, John follows him in silence. They don't talk for the whole ride, John sensing this isn't the time for small talk. 

They eventually come upon a small house, obviously abandoned. Arthur dismounts, letting Ivory trot away to graze nearby. John stands beside him, waiting for whatever reason they're here. 

Arthur takes a deep breath. "You remember a while ago, there was a time I was more withdrawn than usual? Drinking all the time? Angry at everything and everyone? Pa told you to leave me be, that I was going through something personal?" 

John nods, he does remember. Arthur was a mess for months. No one ever told him why or what happened. The few who knew told him it was Arthur's choice to tell him or not, not theirs. He never found out what could have possibly happened to cause his brave big brother to fall to pieces. 

"A waitress. Eliza. We had met a few times. She was sweet, funny, and a real nice gal. We were young and stupid." John knows immediately what is unspoken. Arthur doesn't look away from the house. "I couldn't leave her alone, but there was no way in hell I was involving her with the gang. Dutch and Hosea helped set her up here. I would visit every chance I could. Bring money and gifts." He is silent for a moment before he starts walking to the side of the house. 

John follows a step behind, almost letting out a distressed noise at the two crosses. Arthur still doesn't look his way, his voice is soft, vulnerable. "His name was Isaac. I showed up one day to find this. The neighbor had been keeping an eye out for me since they didn't know how to get into contact with me. He told me they were robbed. No one knows exactly what happened, except whoever did it killed them. Over ten bucks." John nearly starts crying at the sheer pain in Arthur's voice. "I tried. I tried so damn hard to keep them safe. She knew who I was and what I did. Trusted me to keep that away from them. I did. But they were taken from me anyway." 

John steps closer to Arthur, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "I understand" He does now. Isaac was the reason. Not just why he was so good with Jack, but why he had been so angry with John. Because John was throwing away the very thing Arthur had wanted, gotten, and then lost. 

He wasn’t upset at not been told, knowing this was painful for Arthur. “I never want you to know what it’s like to lose your son. But what’s worse is that I wasn’t there for him. Not like I should’ve been. I don’t want you to experience that.” 

John doesn’t know how to respond. Feeling touched at the sentiment but unable to voice it. He squeezes Arthur’s shoulder in a silent gesture.

They stay a while longer before returning to camp. It’s only after dismounting and hitching their horses John breaks the silence, “Can you help me with Jack?” Arthur seems pleased at the request, turning and pointing to where Jack is sitting by himself reading. “Go to him, ask him to read to you. Tell him you want to hear how good he’s getting. Help him if he asks but don’t butt in. Be excited when he gets it right. Praise him but not too much or it will sound fake. Got it?” 

John nods, slightly confused but sure he can do it. “I think so.” He walks to Jack, determined. Jack looks up, timidly at first but soon lights up in excitement, scooting closer to his father as John sits on the ground. 

Arthur unsaddles Ivory, brushing her gently, glancing up occasionally to see how John is managing.

Jack is concentrated on his book, sounding out words. John is watching him with such adoration. Jack looks at John in question, John gives him a wide smile and what looks like a word of praise. Jack beams in response, returning to his reading. John looks up to Arthur, mouthing a thank you. Arthur dips his head in response, turning his full attention to his horse.

John still has a lot of catching up to do, but this was a good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another chapter already done. Don't be surprised if you see it soon. I'm bad with waiting.


	15. Chapter 15

It all happens so fast. 

Dutch is irritated. Mind you he knows why. The last few days had been hotter than normal. Everybody was sweaty and grouchy. The night hadn’t brought much relief. Dutch had barely slept in the heat, the few short hours he had managed were plagued with nightmares. Memories. It was around this time that he had lost Annabelle.

So, he wasn’t in the best of moods. Uncle had been more useless as of late, Bill getting drunk and throwing around insults, almost starting several fights. Even Karen and Miss Grimshaw had started yelling. 

He was done with it all. Exhausted, too hot, a migraine pounding behind his eyes. Finally, he had snapped. 

He hadn’t realized who had been on the receiving end of his hateful barb at first. Just knew he was sitting out on the balcony of the house, eyes closed. Trying to relieve even a little of the pressure in his head. 

He could hear the commotion in the camp below, trying to tune them out. Footsteps approached; someone said his name. He snapped. He barely heard his own voice as the words left his lips. 

He told them to leave him be, that he was tired of everyone and everything right now. To stop being a nuisance to him and go be useful elsewhere. 

Honestly, he had thought it was just one of the boys from camp. Come to complain about something or other. He knew it wasn’t John or Hosea. The former out of camp and the latter below yelling at Bill. 

He heard no response from behind him, just retreating footsteps. He doesn’t bother looking, letting out a long sigh. He can hear them descending the stairs. He might as well check who it was he had snapped at. 

His heart stops at the sight of Arthur exiting the house. Dammit. He hadn’t thought. If he had known it was Arthur. He lets out a low groan at his stupidity. Arthur would take what he said seriously. 

The man was still recovering from pneumonia. He was probably just looking for some company, feeling useless around camp, unable to contribute. He sees Arthur walk to the scout fire, sitting next to Charles. He still has his back to the house but Dutch doesn’t need to see his face to know. He can see the slump in his son’s shoulders. 

Knowing it isn’t exhaustion causing it he rises from his chair, intent on fixing the matter immediately. But he barely gets through the door before his vision is swimming. Black dots floating before his eyes as the world tilts dangerously.

He closes his eyes as a wave of nausea passes over him. He swallows against the feeling, knowing he had barely eaten the last few days and wouldn’t have anything to bring up. 

He breathes through his nose, praying it will pass. He hears footsteps on the stairs, quick and heavy. He hopes they’re not coming in here. His hopes are dashed when the door is flung open and Hosea’s angry voice fills his ears. “What the hell were you thinking? Snapping at Arthur like that!”

Dutch takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the rising bile. Hosea doesn’t seem to have noticed his state yet. He cracks an eye open, “You know he’s still sick! And besides, he just wanted to make sure you were alright! We know it’s rough right now but- “

Hosea cuts off as his eyes finally land on Dutch. Though he expected the rumpled appearance he was suddenly struck by concern at the man’s stance. Still braced against the doorframe he looked moments away from falling over. His face was scrunched in pain, clearly made uncomfortable by the yelling.

Hosea quickly crosses the room. He places a hand on the back of Dutch’s neck, “Dutch? You okay?” Dutch closes his eye, breathing deeply through his nose. Hosea is starting to panic, “Come on, talk to me please.” Dutch cracks his eyes, mouth still stubbornly closed. 

Hosea understands. He glances around quickly. He spots a bucket of water nearby, quickly dumping it off the back balcony. He places the bucket beside the bed before returning to Dutch’s side. “Come on, you need to sit.” 

He takes Dutch’s weight, the younger man clearly still dizzy. Hosea gets him seated on the bed, pulling up a nearby chair, sitting in front of him. He brings the bucket within reach, just in case. 

He returns his hand to Dutch’s neck, gently massaging, “Just breath, Hun.” He doesn’t get an answer but he wasn’t expecting one. Hosea hears footsteps by the stairs. He gently places his hands over Dutch’s ears before yelling, “Whoever is down there could you come here please?”

He hears someone approach. He returns to massaging Dutch’s neck. After a minute Mary-Beth opens the door. Her confused look turns to concern when she sees Dutch’s state. “What do you need?” Instantly she’s ready to help.

Hosea gives her a grateful smile, “Grab some water and crackers. Give them to Arthur and send him up, please.” She nods, leaving quickly. Hosea focuses back on Dutch, massaging his neck and head, trying to relieve his headache. Soon he hears light hesitant footsteps by the door, “Arthur.” Hosea calls out as loud as he dares.

Arthur pauses before entering, though timid from being snapped at he is obviously very concerned. He walks over to Hosea, keeping his voice low. “What happened?” 

Hosea gives him a look, “The same thing that always happens around this time. He didn’t take care of himself. Probably hasn’t slept or ate properly in nearly a week.” Hosea scoffs, “He most likely thinks it’s only been two or three days. Dizziness. Migraine. The usual.” 

Arthur crouches next to Hosea as they speak in hushed tones, trying to coax Dutch to have something to eat or drink. He manages a few mouthfuls of water but refuses food. 

Hosea removes Dutch’s boots, gun belt, and vest, laying him down on the bed. Arthur sits on the edge, Dutch reaching out for him. Arthur meeting the hand with his own. Dutch gives him an apologetic look, Arthur squeezes his hand, “I know. It’s okay.”

No it’s not. He wants to say as much but his stomach gives an unpleasant lurch. He groans and tries to weakly push himself up. Arthur and Hosea are moving in an instant, Arthur pulls him into a sitting position. One arm around his chest, a hand flat on his back, keeping him upright. Hosea is placing the bucket under him just as he starts to heave.

Once the small amount of water is gone it turns into bile and dry heaves. Dutch squeezes his eyes shut at the pain in his head made worse by the heaving. He can feel Arthur rubbing his back as it finally stops, Hosea passes him some water to rinse his mouth with.

He pants at the exertion, the episode draining what little energy he had left. Arthur lays him back down, pulling a light blanket over him. More for comfort than warmth. 

His son.

His boy.

He needs to apologize.

He opens his mouth but Arthur cuts him off. “Don’t. You can apologize later if you must. Right now, you need to rest.” He doesn’t have it in him to argue. 

He hears Arthur being to hum. He can’t place the song but it doesn’t matter. The sound of his son’s voice lulling him into a peaceful sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love cuddles

He was back there again. Strung up in the basement by his ankles. The pain in his shoulder excruciating, the only thing he feels over the throbbing of his head.

He hears voices, sees people descend the stairs in front of him. It’s Dutch. Hosea behind him. They came. 

But no, it was a trap. He tries to tell them, warn them to run but he can’t do more than groan. They are trying to get him down, ignoring the door behind them. 

He watches helplessly while lawmen run down the stairs, forcing them to surrender. He tries to call out, beg them to stop. They cuff them both before starting to hit Dutch. He can’t tear his eyes away, they’re gonna kill him. And it’s all his fault. He wasn’t strong enough. 

They pull Dutch to his feet before pulling a knife, he hears Hosea yell, tries to do the same. He watches as the knife moves towards Dutch, time seeming to crawl. 

The knife nears his stomach. 

He wakes up.

He lays there panting for a few minutes, lungs screaming. His body is covered in sweat, blankets tangled around his legs. His stomach rolls unpleasantly as he pushes himself up on his shaking arms. 

He manages to untangle his legs, sitting on the edge of his cot. He focuses on his breathing, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the tears he can feel building.

He hasn’t had a nightmare like that in months, he’s not even sure what triggered this one. 

Finally, his breathing evens out, the sickness retreating. He shivers suddenly, drying sweat making him cold. He strips his soaked union suit off, replacing it with an old pair of pants and a shirt. He wraps his blanket around his shoulders.

He’s still tired but he doubts he’ll get back to sleep right now. He checks his pocket watch, it’s just past 2 in the morning. He sighs, unsure what he can do, still feeling uneasy. Perhaps he’ll go sit downstairs. 

He gets up, forgoing shoes, and makes his way out of his room. He goes to pass by his father’s room when he pauses. He feels the need to check on them, especially Dutch. He knows he would be put at ease seeing them.  


He almost doesn’t, telling himself he’s an adult. He doesn’t need to go crying to his dads when he gets a nightmare. Sure, they’re common in this line of work, everyone in camp gets them. Those who don’t are sadistic bastards or liars. 

In the end, the urge to see them wins. Arthur makes sure to stay quiet, vowing to not wake them. He enters without a sound, letting his eyes adjust to the room before studying the men in the bed.

Hosea lays facing him, his face is pressed into the pillow, one arm under Dutch’s head while the other is resting loosely over his shoulders. Dutch is pressed against Hosea, head to his chest. Arthur can see his left arm around Hosea’s waist. Though covered in a light blanket, Arthur knows their legs are entwined. 

He breathes a silent sigh of relief. His unease vanishing, replaced by contentment. He makes his way in slowly, sticking to the wall. He sits against it, opposite the bed, knees are drawn to his chest. 

He leans back against the wall, watching his fathers breathe, listening to the sound of it. He soon finds himself drifting, a sense of safety surrounding him, his previous nightmare forgotten. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hosea was unsure what woke him at first. He listens but hears nothing out of the ordinary, Dutch is asleep against him, breathing deeply in his sleep. He had almost fallen back asleep when he hears it. 

Breathing.

The breaths quiet, but there. The presence of another person. Hosea blinks awake slowly, not wanting to startle either the person in the room or the one in bed with him. He raises his head slightly, enough to see the figure sitting against the wall across from the bed. 

He squints in the dark, trying to make them out. Someone had entered quietly, only given away when they fell asleep.

Hosea runs his hand through Dutch’s hair, whispering the man’s name to rouse him. He gets a hum in response. “Arthur.” Dutch cracks his eyes, clearly still half asleep. “Huh?” Hosea looks at the figure over Dutch’s shoulder, nodding towards it, “Arthur.”

Dutch rolls over enough to look, “Been a while.” Hosea knows what he means. It’s been a while since Arthur had a nightmare bad enough to bring him to them. 

It’s silent for a few minutes before Hosea gets out of bed. Dutch startles, having fallen back to sleep. He makes a questioning noise. Hosea makes his way over to Arthur, “He’ll be sore if he stays there.” 

Hosea kneels in front of Arthur, he puts a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, “Arthur?” He jerks awake, eyes locking on Hosea. He tugs the blanket around his shoulders closer to himself and quickly gets up from his spot on the floor. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to wake ya.”

He’s clearly embarrassed, Dutch had pushed himself up slightly, more awake at Arthur’s reaction. Hosea stands in front of Arthur, “It’s okay, son. Are you okay?” Arthur shrugs, still not looking at them. “Bad dream s’all. Didn’t mean ta be a bother. Night.”

He goes to leave but Hosea is grabbing his shoulders before he can turn away. “Hold on. It’s okay. You’re not bothering us. Did you want to talk about it?” Arthur relaxes under Hosea’s hands; he glances at them both before shaking his head no. 

Dutch speaks from the bed, “Did you want to stay here?” He can see Arthur hesitate. Clearly wanting to but feeling like he’s bothering them. Hosea doesn’t give him a chance to answer, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and leading him to the bed, “Let’s rephrase that. You’re staying here.”

Arthur stops, “I can go get my bedroll.” Hosea scoffs, “Nonsense, there’s plenty of room and it’s not like we haven’t shared before.” Arthur still seems hesitant, Dutch lifts an arm, “Come on then.”

Whatever the dream had been about, it clearly bothered him. All hesitancy vanished and he crawled into the bed, pressing himself to Dutch’s chest. Dutch rubs Arthur’s back as Hosea settles, Arthur between them. 

It’s a position they used to be in a lot, sometimes even falling asleep just the two of them only to wake up with Arthur sandwiched between them. Like they were shielding him. 

Hosea places his arm over Arthur, his hand resting on Dutch’s hip. He can feel Arthur relaxing, him and Dutch falling asleep quickly. It doesn’t take long for Hosea to follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Arthur wakes up, he’s warm. Or warmer than usual. It takes him a moment to remember why. 

A part of him is embarrassed but it disappears quickly. He feels safe. Content. Loved. 

He’s curled against someone, forehead pressed into their chest. His arm is around their waist and theirs is over his shoulder. Another arm is resting across him right next to the other arm. Their breathing is deep and slow, telling him they’re both still asleep. 

Arthur doesn’t open his eyes, just stays where he is. He drifts between waking and sleeping. Eventually, the sounds of the camp waking up fill the silence, the figure behind him moves. He feels them sit up, a hand rubs his shoulder, “I know you’re awake, Arthur.”

He cracks his eyes at Hosea’s whisper, turning his head slightly. He just gives him a tired look before burying his head back into Dutch’s chest. Hosea chuckles and lays back down, “I agree with you there.”

He hears Hosea pick up a book. The occasional turn of a page is the only sound for a while. There’s a knock on the door, Hosea calling out quietly. It’s John’s voice that speaks, “Was just wondering where Arthur was. He wasn’t in his room or outside. Figured he might be in here.”

Hosea rises from the bed, “Nightmare.” He hears John’s response as the two leave, “Must’ve been a bad one.” The door shuts before he hears Hosea’s answer. 

He shudders at the memory of the dream. It certainly was a bad one. At his movement, Dutch’s arm tightens around his shoulders, his head pressing to the top of Arthur’s. The man had always been clingy in his sleep.

Not that Arthur minds. He’s always felt safe in Dutch’s arms. It doesn’t matter if he is 15 or 30, his fathers meant safety. When he was with them, either beside them or held close, he knew he was safe, loved, cherished even. Something he sorely lacked in his childhood. His biological father giving him nothing but pain and anger. He will forever be grateful that Dutch and Hosea found him. He can’t imagine life without them, doubts he would’ve survived this long without them. 

He doesn’t dwell on the thought letting himself drift back to sleep. Enjoying the morning for as long as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideas are welcome.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cowboybatman had a suggestion. This is what I came up with. WARNING description of depression. I personally am lucky enough to not be afflicted with depression (just severe anxiety instead) but I have family and friends who are. It's a heavy matter and I feel for those who suffer because of it. If any of you suffer from depression and I can help in any way please don't hesitate to reach out.

He wasn’t happy.

He was exactly unhappy either. Nothing seemed to hold his interest, his usual activities becoming dull and uninteresting.

He got like this sometimes. Questioned every thought, feeling, and action. Hated himself in every way. It would pass eventually; something would pull him out of his funk. A job well done, a nice hearty meal perhaps. 

Something to remind him of the good. Occasionally he would go deep enough to stay there for months, barely talking to anyone. No smiles or witty remarks. He would only eat when he had to, sleep more than usual, sit on his cot and just stare at nothing. Until he reached his breaking point. 

He’d either pull himself out, forcing smiles until they were real. Once or twice, someone had to step in, keep him from falling completely. 

Luckily it usually didn’t get that bad anymore. This time it had been nearly two weeks already, the others in camp showing obvious concern. He was withdrawn, not participating in any activities. Doing his chores or jobs without a word. He only spoke when spoken to, with short responses. Not even Sean could get a rise out of him.

Tonight, most are at the campfire, sharing stories. Arthur sits against a log, just staring into the fire. Barely hearing the people that surround him. A hand rests on his shoulder. He glances up to Hosea’s concerned look, “You okay?” 

He realizes everyone is quiet, their attention on him. Hosea’s concern shared by everyone. He shrugs, returning his gaze to the fire. Not bothering with a verbal answer. He looks up as Lenny speaks from across the fire, “You’ve barely said a word in days.” He sounds worried, unsure. Like he almost doesn’t want to bring attention to the fact. 

A frown tugs at Arthur’s mouth, he doesn’t know what to say. Only a few really know what’s wrong, as Arthur can’t be bothered to explain what’s going on inside. He feels Hosea squeeze his shoulder, “He’s okay. This happens sometimes. Has since he was young. We just gotta let him work it out. He’ll talk to someone if he really needs to.”

Arthur doesn’t lift his gaze from where it’s returned to the fire. He’s glad Hosea was there to explain what he couldn’t. He sits in front of the fire for the rest of the night, not moving even when the others retire. 

He gets more concerned looks when the camp wakes, having not moved from his spot. 

Suddenly he feels suffocated. He needs to get out. He decides to go hunting, less human interaction than stealing. 

He finally rises, stiff from sitting in the same position all night. He packs for his trip, plans for several days but brings enough for a week just in case. 

He’s securing his saddlebags when Hosea approaches, “Going out?” Arthur nods, double-checking that everything’s secure. “Where to?” Hosea’s question sounds casual but Arthur can hear the underlying concern. “Huntin’ pro’lly. Heartlands or somethin’. Somewhere open.”

Hosea looks eased at his answer, realizing Arthur is in need of space. “Okay, but be careful. If you’re not back in a week I’m sending Charles after you.” He gives Hosea a small smile, the first one in a while. “Thanks, Pa.”

He pulls himself onto Ivory, grateful that Hosea let him go without a fuss. He wasn’t sure how he would do if he was forced to stay in camp. 

The next couple of days are spent traveling. Taking his time, enjoying the nice weather, the freedom, nature. Still, his mood didn’t improve. He felt a little better than before but he just couldn’t break himself out. He tried, enjoying the ride best he could, stopping now and then to study some plants or pick a few. 

He even helped out a stranger with a broken wagon wheel. Despite all that, the tightness in his chest didn’t loosen. He was still suffocating under a dark cloud despite the beautiful sunny day. 

He was close to the Heartlands now, stopping at a body of water to rest a while. He let Ivory graze as he sat in the shade of a nearby tree. He pulls out his journal with the intent to draw the deer he can see at the water’s edge. 

He ends up just sitting there, staring at the blank page. He is so lost in his own head he doesn’t hear the animals around him, doesn’t notice the one nearing him until he feels a nose brush his elbow. He manages not to startle, turning slightly to see what is beside him. 

It’s a deer, or more specifically a fawn. Looks only a few weeks old, just a small thing. He studies the fawn, a fondness rising. Its coat is beautiful, shines in the sun. 

He can feel himself loosening as he watches the fawn sniff his arm. He doesn’t know what it’s looking for, food perhaps. The only thing he has is canned fruit. No doubt it would eat it but getting the fruit would spook the animal. 

He doesn’t even entertain the thought. After a few minutes of curious sniffing, the fawn seems satisfied with its findings. Its head raises, catching the sight of the does still resting by the river. Arthur expects it to leave, join its mother. Instead, the fawn turns back around and proceeds to sit down next to Arthur, curling up almost into a ball. 

Arthur is shocked. Sure, he’s had animals come near him before but never stay, never lay down to sleep next to him. Arthur watches the fawn as it drifts off to sleep, his mouth slightly open. 

He spends the next hour sketching the fawn, making sure to get every detail he can. Once he’s done, his hand is cramping from holding his pencil. He looks up to see if the does are still close by, knowing at least one would be. Not leaving her child behind.

He blinks in surprise when he is greeted by the sight of three does laying just a few feet away from him, watching as another one joins them, coming closer than the others. She lays down next to the fawn. He is stunned. This is something new, but amazing.

The sight of the animals, their decision to seemingly trust him enough to rest this close, brings him a sense of peace. He realized suddenly that he’s smiling, watching the creatures with awe. For the first time in weeks, Arthur can feel something other than a surrounding sadness, disgust, or even numbness. 

He’s content.

Awed.

Happy.

He’s happy.

Right now, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. He feels a sense of pride with the deer around him. 

An excitement, looking forward to telling Hosea and Charles when he returns. Looking forward to seeing them.

Finally, the tension leaves his body, the tightness in his chest is gone. The cloud over his head disappears, a ray of sunlight finally breaking through. He glances back down at the sleeping fawn. It’ll never know the impact it made. How it’s youthful curiosity and choice to sleep next to this strange person would affect him.

Would finally break him from his prison.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some Charther, but it's still focused on family stuff! You'll see. I have a few chapters done but I don't have good endings for them. I may post them anyway. There's probably some hurt Dutch soon, I'm a sucker for it. I'm all for suggestions though.

Dutch notices the changes quickly, subtle but they were there. 

To him, it was obvious that Arthur and Charles were sweet on one another. 

Their looks spoke volumes, the gentle touches only adding more. They were being discrete, not exactly hiding but trying not to draw any obvious attention to themselves. 

Most in the camp were unaware. Either not realizing or not caring enough. 

Watching them now Dutch wondered how anyone could still not know. 

They were tending their horses, currently brushing them. Ivory and Taima were side by side, the men in between them, back-to-back. Their heads would turn to talk over their shoulder to the other. 

Not that they said much, just content with the other’s presence. Both were fully relaxed, no tension found in their shoulders. They trusted the one behind them.

It made Dutch happy that Arthur had found someone. The last people he let in still left a bad taste in Dutch’s mouth. Though he held to ill will towards Eliza and never would, Mary was another story. Dutch cursed the girl for breaking his son’s heart. For using him, for bringing up the past again and again. 

To see that happiness on Arthur again, to see him look at Charles like he was his world. Well, it made Dutch fill with pride and protectiveness. 

He didn’t believe Charles would hurt his boy, he looked at Arthur with such reverence. He knew they loved one another, that Charles wasn’t just playing games. 

Though Charles was a good man, it doesn’t stop Dutch from worrying. He keeps watching them until Arthur is called away. He makes a quick decision and makes his way over to Charles. 

He stops by Ivory, petting her nose. “Mr. Smith.” Charles turns, unsurprised by his presence, “Sir.” 

Dutch doesn’t know how long he has before Arthur comes back so he doesn’t waste time with fancy words, “Do you love him?” 

Charles’ head tilts slightly, clearly not expecting the direct question. But he doesn’t seem surprised that Dutch noticed. He nods once, “I do.” 

Dutch studies him for a minute, gauging his sincerity. “Hmm. So, you’re aware of what he’s been through?” Charles looks sad for a moment, “Yes, he told me about both Eliza and Mary.” 

Dutch nods, turning his attention to Arthur’s horse, still petting her. “Then I don’t have to explain myself.” He glances at Charles who gives him a genuine smile. “No, sir. I understand.” Dutch returns the smile, “Good.” 

It’s at that moment Arthur returns, he gives Dutch a suspicious look, “What are you doing?” Dutch returns the look with an innocent one, “Petting your horse.” Arthur’s eyes narrow, flicking between him and Charles, “He didn’t threaten you, did he?” 

Charles shakes his head, a small smile still on his face, “No he didn’t. We were just talking.” Arthur gives them both a look as if to say ‘sure you were.’ 

Dutch chuckles as Arthur returns his attention to Ivory. “You seem happier.” Arthur gives him another look, this one saying ‘really?’ Arthur knows exactly what he’s up to. Won’t stop him though. “Anything I should know about?” 

Arthur shakes his head in exasperation. Charles looks amused, turned partly back to Taima. Dutch continues. “Anything new?” Arthur groans, dropping his forehead to Ivory’s flank, Charles snorting at his antics. “AnyONE new.” He emphasizes this one, leaning forward, an innocent look back on his face. 

Charles chuckles, enjoying Arthur’s torment. Arthur sends him a glare over his shoulder, only causing Charles to laugh more. He turns his glare to Dutch. “Ya done?” 

Dutch crosses his arms, “Oh I’m just getting started. I’m sure there’s plenty of stories I could regale young Charles with.” It’s getting harder for Dutch to hold back his laughter as Arthur’s glare becomes more deadly, “Don’t you dare.” Dutch gives him a mischievous grin, full of promises. 

He can just barely hear a muttered ‘dear god’ from Arthur. He sees him and Charles have a silent conversation before Arthur turns back to him, “You already know.” 

Dutch shrugs, “Yeah, but maybe I want to hear you say it.” Arthur looks annoyed before he sighs, “Okay, just no embarrasin’ stories. At least right now.” Dutch raises his hands in surrender. 

Arthur shifts from foot to foot a few times. “Charles and I.” Dutch waits patiently, knowing admitting these things out loud can be difficult for him. “We’re together.”

Dutch gives him a proud look, “As long as you’re happy.” 

Arthur smiles at him, looking over to Charles and back, “I am.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some hurt Dutch and poor Lenny being picked on. Warning for a racist asshole, it kinda hurt to write him. Sorry Lenny.

He hated Saint Denis. 

It was full of snobby rich folk; smog covers the city like a blanket. 

The swamps smelled better. 

Still, the pickings were good, so the majority of the camp went. Dressing up for a night on the town, filled with alcohol and robbery. 

The girls were having the time of their lives, flirting and pickpocketing. Bill and Javier were playing poker, winning more than they were losing. 

Dutch and Hosea were in another saloon a few streets away. John, Charles, and Sean with them. 

Arthur was nursing his drink, keeping an eye on everyone. Arthur’s eyes follow Lenny as the boy approaches the bar from where he had been watching the poker game. 

They exchange a nod as Lenny leans on the bar. 

Arthur is back in his own world for only a moment before he is brought out by raised voices. He looks to the bar to see a man in Lenny’s face. Tipsy, on the verge of being drunk, obviously bothered by something. 

The place quiets down as everyone’s attention moves to the man as he gets louder, ignoring the bartender’s interjections. “I don’t know why you and your kind think they can just do what they like!” 

Arthur can feel his rage surge. He debates shooting the man but decides against it. For now. 

“You need to get out of my sight and back to the field where you belong!” 

That’s it. Before even Lenny can react, Arthur is on his feet. 

He pulls Lenny back, taking his place in front of the man. “What you want?” Arthur smiles, almost sadistically. “Just wanna ask you a question, friend.” 

The man seems confused, Arthur doesn’t let him say anything, keeping his voice level, threatening. “You ever had your toenails ripped off?.” 

"What?" Arthur continues, miming his words with his hands, "Ya know, someone prying your toenails up with a knife and pullin' them off?" 

The man doesn't seem to know whether to be angry or confused, "No." Arthur takes a step closer, "Your gonna if you don't stop botherin' the kid." 

He places his hand on his knife, narrowing his eyes. “You some kind of n- “Arthur has him against the bar, knife at his throat. “Finish that sentence and I’ll skin you alive.” He growls teeth bared, the man looks terrified. “I suggest you leave now.” 

He lets the man go, and he scurries out the door. Arthur puts his knife away, sharing a nod with the bartender before returning to his drink.

He doesn’t pay any attention to his surroundings, the saloon slowly coming back to life. Another drink is placed in front of him, he looks up to Lenny. “Hey, thank you. Really.” 

Arthur raises his glass, toasting Lenny. 

The rest of the night is uneventful for them. It was after midnight when they leave, going to meet the others. 

They meet Dutch, Hosea, and Charles outside the other saloon. They go looking for their missing members. 

They find them down an alley, six to two fight. John is grappling with one guy, while Sean is drunkenly trying to fight another. 

They’re all ready to help but they don’t want to use their guns if possible. Too noisy. 

Arthur, Dutch, and Javier go to help. 

Arthur pulls the man away from John, Javier going after the extra men as Dutch makes his way over to Sean. 

Three men are down when it goes to hell. 

Javier had pulled Sean from the fray; Arthur was helping John while the man regained his breath. Dutch was fighting two men, one righting himself after receiving a punch, grabbing a nearby pipe from the trash, and cracking Dutch on the head. 

He hears himself and most of their group yell. 

Dutch hits the wall, the other man grabbing a rope, pulling Dutch back by his neck. He struggles, air cut off. There’s blood trailing from his forehead, dripping onto his collar, he’s dazed from the hit, losing air as the man garrotes him. 

He sees people move as he takes the man in front of him down. Charles and Javier are there, killing the men quickly. Knives flashing in the moonlight. 

Dutch falls to his knees, gasping for air. Charles is pulling out his kerchief, pressing it against Dutch’s temple. He winces at the contact; Arthur notices one pupil is bigger than the other. 

He checks on John before moving to help Charles with Dutch. 

He is unsteady on his feet, with ugly red marks around his neck. The skin wasn’t broken but it looked sore, Arthur knows it’ll be bruised by tomorrow. 

They make it over to the group, the girls and Hosea fussing over Dutch. He waves them off, wincing at the pain in his head. The bleeding has stopped thankfully but the wound still needed tending. 

Dutch assures them it can wait until they’re at camp. They should leave before anyone notices the bodies. 

They all agree, Arthur, helping Dutch onto his horse. He seems dazed but steady enough. They all keep an eye on him on the ride back. 

They get to camp without issue, everyone hovering by the horses. They watch Dutch dismount, Hosea, there to steady him. Hosea reassures them he’ll take care of everything, bidding them goodnight. 

They disappear into the house, Hosea supporting Dutch slightly. 

It’s nearly noon the next day when Dutch emerges looking tired. There’s a small bandage on the right side of his forehead but it’s the bruising that gets everyone’s attention. 

There’s a ring of ugly bruises around his neck, dark and painful looking. Dutch gives them all an exhausted smile, accepting a cup of coffee. He’s squinting at the sun, no doubt from a headache. 

Sean is sitting nearby, nursing a hangover. He approaches Dutch, looking guiltily at the bruises. “I’m sorry.” Dutch turns to Sean, “Did any of us die?” His voice is slightly scratchy but still strong. Sean shakes his head no, Dutch returns to his coffee. “Nothing to be sorry for then.” Sean gets his meaning; he seems relieved before slinking off. 

Arthur steps up beside Dutch. “How was our take?” Arthur looks over at Dutch’s question, “Really good.” They share a smile, “They had fun. We should do this again soon,” He gestured to Dutch’s injuries. “Well, most of it anyway.” Dutch chuckles, “I agree, on both parts.”


End file.
